In the serene, tree-lined suburbs of Pune, where old bungalows hid behind high compound walls and bougainvillea crept over iron gates, Mahesh Sharma lived with his 22-year-old daughter, Bhavya. He had raised her alone after her mother left when Bhavya was barely three. Now, fresh out of college and staying home while she figured out her future, the house felt smaller, warmer, and far more dangerous than it ever had. Mahesh was 45, still powerfully built from years in the construction business. Salt-and-pepper hair, strong arms, and quiet confidence. Bhavya had grown into a breathtaking young woman — long, wavy auburn hair, bright green eyes she inherited from her mother, and a body that curved generously in all the right places. She moved around the house in tiny shorts and loose tank tops, completely at ease, unaware — or perhaps fully aware — of the effect she had on him. It began innocently. Late-night movies on the large sofa in the living room. Bhavya would curl into his side li...
I’m still seeing this gorgeous 22-year-old college girl named Priya. She’s fair, tall for an Indian girl, slim with nice curves in all the right places, long black hair that smells amazing, and a smile that turns heads everywhere.
That evening we were at her college’s annual Art & Culture Festival. The event was supposed to be fun – exhibitions, performances, food stalls – but it quickly turned into one long, boring networking session. Priya kept introducing me to her friends (mostly artsy types with quirky glasses and paint-stained hands), her classmates, and then her professors. I was already two hours deep, pretending to care about abstract paintings and sculpture discussions, while secretly hitting the wine counter hard, trying to get drunk enough to survive the night.
I finally slipped away from Priya when she got busy chatting with a group of girls. That’s when one of her professors, Professor Vikram , approached me. He was in his late 40s – decent looking for his age, sharp features, salt-and-pepper hair, and that typical intellectual vibe professors carry. He started with casual questions: how we met, what I do for a living, how serious we are. The conversation went on for almost 15-20 minutes. I was stuck between continuing this chat or going back to endless “hi, nice to meet you” with more of Priya’s friends.
He began reminiscing about his own college days, how much he missed that carefree energy, and how teaching young students sometimes made him feel old. Then, slowly, he shifted the topic to Priya. “She’s really beautiful, beta. Very graceful. You’re a lucky guy,” he said with a strange smile. He even asked if we were planning to get married. I laughed and joked that we’d only been dating for a couple of months – it was more of a fun fling than anything serious.
That’s when he leaned in and said in a low voice, “Guy to guy… tell me honestly, are you serious about her or is it just time-pass?”
I shrugged and replied, “More of a casual thing, sir. Nothing too deep yet.”
He went silent for almost half a minute, staring at his drink. Then he took a deep breath and came straight to the point. He confessed that out of all the female students he had taught in years, Priya was the one who caught his eye the most. He praised how smart and punctual she was in class, but then his tone turned creepier – he mentioned how good she always smelled, how flawless her skin looked, how silky her long hair was, and how elegantly she carried herself. It was borderline obsessive, but I stayed quiet, curious where this was heading.
He admitted he could lose his job for even saying all this, but he would regret it forever if he didn’t ask. Then he made the offer: “I’ll give you 25,000 rupees cash right now. In return, I want a clear video recording – at least 10-12 minutes long – of Priya fully naked, having sex. No faces blurred if possible, but at least her body should be clearly visible.”
I was stunned. This respected professor was openly asking to watch my girlfriend get fucked on camera. But 25k was decent money for a quick job, and honestly, the idea was strangely exciting. After thinking for a few seconds, I agreed.
That same night, after the event, I took Priya out for a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant in Sector 17 using part of the money. She looked stunning in a short red dress that hugged her petite figure, her long legs looking even sexier with heels. Over candlelight and wine, I was already imagining how I would set up the hidden camera in my apartment for the next time we got intimate.
A few days later, I did record the video exactly as promised – a hot, passionate session where She was completely naked, moaning loudly as I fucked her hard from behind, then riding me like a wild girl, her perfect tits bouncing, her smooth shaved pussy taking every inch. I made sure the recording was clear and long enough. Professor Vikram transferred the remaining money happily after receiving the file, and even thanked me with a message saying it was “better than he had imagined.”
She still has no idea about any of this. She thinks that night’s dinner was just me being romantic. Meanwhile, I sometimes watch that video myself when I’m alone – seeing her tight young body moving so erotically, knowing another man (her own professor) is probably jerking off to it right now. The whole thing added a dirty, secret thrill to our fling that I never expected.
It’s crazy how one boring college event turned into something so filthy and exciting. She is still my hot girlfriend, but now every time I see Professor Vikram name pop up or when she talks about her classes, I can’t help but smile with that guilty pleasure
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